Sunday morning my eyes were still trying to get accustomed to their surroundings when my phone rang. It was none other then my dear friend Léliane. She wanted to know if I was willing to accompany her and her beloved to the Patrick Watson show that night, considering that I had been spending practically every waking moment at the Jazz Festival since day one. “Who?” I thought to myself. I assured her it was a date; after all, any excuse was a good one for me to make my way over to the agglomeration of Jazz-amateurs, tourists and whatnot, even if I had no clue who I was going to see, which was the case in this particular situation. Once I arrived at the site, I began to question my knowledge of the popular culture. It was almost like the Stevie Wonder concert revisited, with a tad less security. There were literally people of all ages and walks of life present. I could have even sworn I had seen a friend of my grand mother’s. The odds were against us, but Léliane and I were able to find each other. Gerardo, her gentleman of a boyfriend managed to fray a path for us through the dense jungle of people out into a clearing. Amen. I then stepped on my pride and confessed to them I had never heard of this Watson character before. Once again, by their reactions, I felt I needed to perhaps get rid of the metaphorical rock covering my dwelling. The show had started and it was near impossible for me to get a decent shot. It didn’t take long for me to give up, especially since I was feelings extremely claustrophobic at the time.
Overall I must say, the man knows how to put on a good show… and he’s got talent. Anyone who writes a song about “Where The Wild Things Are” (as over-rated as this phenomenon is now becoming thanks to dear old mister Jonze) gets me applauding. His mad fisting of the grand piano at the end of “The Great Escape” was also a pleaser. Not to mention the fact that his drummer was at least seventy years old. Amazing.
Hitting two pigeons with one rock, at midnight I made my way over to the Pawa Up First show at Club Soda. Once again, had never heard of these people before (boy was this ever a Celia you don’t know Jack night). However I must say these guys were possibly situated a bit more in my musical preference zone. They qualify themselves as Experimental Visual Rock and draw a lot of inspiration from film music. All in all, quite interesting. They reminded me of a much much much softer and more mainstream version of Mogwai whom I adore.
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